Greater Than Complete
by GettingOverGreta
Summary: After the events of The Lying Detective, Sherlock learns that Molly is considering a change, and considers what he might do about that.


Quiet was a rare thing in Baker Street, and Sherlock rarely considered it a pleasure. This morning, however, settled in his chair with a fresh cuppa and scones from Mrs. Hudson, he had to admit quiet was unusually rewarding compared with the past few weeks. Perhaps it was helpful that he had started to return to his usual routine and was properly showered and shaved. Perhaps it helped that Mrs. Hudson and John had cleared out some of the debris of his case, leaving 221B a bit more recognizable. Lastly, it may have helped that he had company, in the form of Molly Hooper, who had taken the "night shift" in his friends' rotation.

She was currently dressed in a jumper and jeans and reading the Guardian, glasses perched on her nose, polka dot sock-clad feet pointed towards the fireplace. Her normally tightly controlled hair hung loose and flowing, and Sherlock thought that she could have stepped out of one of his mother's photographs of an earlier decade.

Not that he was trying to figure out who or what she reminded him of at that moment, of course.

The true challenge was determining whether something was genuinely off regarding Molly, or if her more vintage appearance was confounding something in his mind. She had seemed less of her usual cheerful self last evening, despite clearly making an effort. Sherlock supposed she was disappointed with him, which was to be expected – Molly had been extremely clear about her feelings regarding his drug use – but something else, something distracting had her attention.

Sherlock frowned and realized that the situation actually required a conversation. Conversing about a serious, non-thanatological topic with Molly often left him ill at ease. There was often a nebulous sentiment present that was impossible to properly leash and control. However, the woman who had apparently just read the same paragraph about holidays in Argentina for the third time in a row was unlikely to bring up the topic on her mind.

"Molly, is something wrong?"

"With me? No. Of course not." In what Sherlock regarded as the definition of _not even trying_ , Molly looked away, a faint blush suffusing her cheeks that she clearly hoped to conceal beneath a curtain of hair.

"It's not a – something wrong, really. It's a good thing. I'm just a bit sad about it, I think."

"And what would that be?"

"I think it's time for a change. I'm moving," Molly said quietly. "New job, new start, away from London."

"Ah," Sherlock said, swallowing tightly.

"I had decided, the other night. I didn't want to ruin your birthday," she said, her eyes shiny with tears. "There's nothing settled yet, I've just started sending some emails to colleagues, updating my CV. I don't want to go very far away, I want to be around for Rosie, and – and everyone. But you were right about the stress...it will ruin every day if I let it."

As always, what Molly didn't say spoke volumes. Mary had been killed, she'd been trying to help John with Rosie's care, and then based on cryptic theories Sherlock had dragged a promise out of her to appear at an address with an ambulance and appeared so high that when he tried to explain the plan to her she had started pacing frantically in a moving vehicle. He had followed this up by landing in the hospital, nearly getting murdered, and now requiring round the clock minding until his friends felt sure his abstinence was stable. He's the stress, and he can't blame her for wanting to escape.

"You want a change," Sherlock said.

"I do. I feel like – I broke up with Tom because I knew what I didn't want but I think if I don't have my own life I'll never know how I want my life to really be...because honestly Sherlock I don't think I can keep this up anymore." As she says this, Sherlock notes that she does not look particularly excited about the possibilities of change, which he finds curious.

"Sorry, I'm sure it all sounds silly."

"It sounds like something friends would discuss." Despite her presence in his flat in a time of need, he's suddenly unsure if she counts him on that list.

Molly smiled. "Yes. Friends would." She stood up. "I think I need more tea. Do you want any?"

"Please," Sherlock replied, and Molly hurried into the kitchen, quickly wiping her eyes.

He watched her, the sense of loss edging in as he watched her filling the kettle and settling tea bags into mugs. Molly had slowly become part of his circle of friends, one of the few people with whom he felt settled and comfortable. Yet there was something that often felt off-kilter in how she saw the world compared to him, and where he had once dismissed that as foolishness, he had been forced to admit that there were few areas where Molly truly was foolish.

One of those areas was himself, which is why he was currently vacillating between two thoughts: that he could not ask her to stay, and that he might very well be able to convince her that she should.

Something was coming together that left Sherlock feeling queasy, a sort of involuntary review by his mind palace. Molly, blushing and flattered by his attention, followed by Molly telling him off for being a git, letting him know with a mere glance (or a well-placed elbow) that he was out of line. Molly unquestioningly offering her help, her loyalty, and her kindness whenever he asked. Molly choosing to let things go when she knew that drugs were the reason he was cruel. She had a gift for not only engaging him in the world of sentiment, but anticipating where he might struggle most.

 _What could I need from you_ , he'd asked her once. Now he had to ponder how he would answer if she asked him the same question. That the potential response might be the same ( _nothing, I don't know_ ) was rather deflating to his ego, actually, and his ego had already been thrown into a centrifuge a few times in the past six months.

Yet still, the hopes of a deeper connection could be enough. He could walk into the kitchen, he could express some sort of sentiment and that intangible desire for more that other people described. Molly would predictably ask if he was manipulating her and after he strongly insisted that he _would not_ , she would oh so self-sacrificingly tell him that he had just been through several traumas and was in no position to make decisions like that. The hope, however, might slow her search for a new position. In the meantime, he would agree, and proceed to encourage her participation in his recovery, to spend more of her time with him.

By the time there was no reason to wait any longer, Molly Hooper would have forgotten all about why she wanted to leave London.

Which presented its own set of problems, really. Sherlock rose from his chair and strolled into the kitchen, the sash of his dressing gown fluttering around him. John seemed to think adding love to his life was a simple adjustment, but Sherlock remembered finding Janine's presence rather intense, her eager pursuit of physical affection and strange need to reorganize his flat overwhelming his initial discovery that she was charming. Similar conflicts with Molly would undoubtedly ruin their friendship.

He cleared a spot at the table for them to sit while Molly examined the shelves in a search for sugar.

"In the cabinet to the left," Sherlock said. The kettle whistled and Molly poured the tea before settling at the table with their mugs. She smiled and Sherlock considered a new gambit of reaching for her hand, which rested comfortably on the table.

 _It would complete you as a human being._ Which was frankly ridiculous, he was a perfectly complete human being, and Molly was an equally complete human being. That was why she had hopes and dreams and plans that went beyond babysitting a grown man in his own flat.

Yet sometimes two complete things in combination had a certain enhanced effect: coffee was too bitter without sugar, chips were even tastier with fish, luminol and blood spatters produced a lovely glow.

"Sherlock? What is it?" Molly drew him back to the moment, and the steaming cup of tea she had placed in front of him.

He shook his head. "Sorry, just – remembered something John said. It's not important."

He cannot ask her to stay.

Not until he knows that he can offer anything that makes Molly Hooper something greater than herself.


End file.
